Ce N'est Pas Au Revoir
by afterell
Summary: A TIMELESS STORY WHERE LOVE HAS NO BOUNDARIES AND GOODBYE IS NEVER THE END Ce N'est Pas Au Revoir portrays love, loss, forgiveness, and an evergreen friendship. Julean was meant to be. It just took a sequel to make it happen. This was a collaborative effort (though my friends probably regret this). Special thanks to everybody on the Google doc for making this happen!
1. Chapter 1

Scene 1

Julien Quentin moped around in the dormitory. A new boy entered the room. _Who is he?_ he wondered, looking into Jean's dark eyes filled with the sorrows of the world. _His hair... It's so dark and curly_. Julien was awestruck. He wondered what it would feel like to run his hands through his luscious locks. _His lips, so chapped and mysterious._ This new boy, Jean Bonnet they called him, was clearly different. Different from every boy Julien had seen in his twelve years of existence. He was not a "chretien", he was more than that. He was ethereal and enticing. Maybe going back to the boarding school wouldn't be so bad after all...

Julien was nervous. He wanted to get closer to the new boy. _But how,_ he pondered, _could he do that?_ Jean began opening his suitcase on the bed next to Julien. He walked over to his new locker. Julien seized his chance. _The only way to get to know someone is to rifle through their stuff and make sarcastic comments about it_ , he concluded.

Jean came back from his locker. He stared at Julien. Julien tried not to blush, but even if he did, he could just blame it on the coldness.

"The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes," he said, trying to look away from Jean's passionate gaze. Jean had such beautiful eyes. They bore into his soul.

"Yes," Jean responded, "It is a good book." He didn't seem to catch onto Julien's intense stare.

Julien was frustrated. This new boy obviously wasn't as committed to their relationship as he was. He wanted to _know_ him. Know him like no one else. Know him _better_ than anybody else. Know him to the point of no return.

He scoffed at Jean's books, and mentally prepared himself for their confrontation.

Scene 2

Julien turned around in his bed. He heard a chant; he recognized the voice. It could only be Jean. Only Jean had such a rich, velvety, French tone. Julien couldn't distinguish his accent. It certainly was not from Marseilles. Somewhere different. Somewhere exotic. _But,_ he wondered, _why was Jean chanting?_ He rolled around and faced him. Jean was upright, holding some candles, obviously deep in prayer. The candles illuminated the contours on his face, highlighted the glorious cheekbones of his, yet Julien failed to understand why Jean was doing this. Jean's beautifully-contoured lips moved nimbly and gracefully. Julien realised that Jean _was different_ , in that he didn't practice the same religion as everyone else _au collège_.

Jean ceased chanting. Julien pretended to be asleep. He quickly drifted into a sleep filled with dark, curly-haired new boys, and their mysterious rituals.

Scene 3

The next day, Julien began following Jean around campus. He couldn't bear to be away from him for even a second. Jean had an aura about him that couldn't be compared to any other boy Julien had ever seen. But why wouldn't Jean love him back? No matter how hard Julien tried to get to know him, he always got pushed away. He knew nothing about Jean's family, his past life, nor did he know why he performed his nightly rituals.

He pattered about, thinking about Jean's chocolate curls, when he was intercepted by his jerk older brother. His jerk brother continued moving his mouth and saying stupid things about girls. Girls loved Francois, but Julien hated him. Julien only cared about one person. The mysterious Jean, who was best friends with Negus, not him. Julien wanted to smack Negus in the face. Jean looked at him in such an adoring manner. Only Julien was allowed to be looked at by him that way! How dare Negus steal his love away from him? Negus' face just angered him and he wished to rearrange his face.

Scene 4

Pushes him against the wall.

Scene 5

What was the deal with Negus and Jean? What were they? They seemed like best friends but who knew? There could be more. And Julien was determined to find out. He was reading a letter from his mother when he realized that this would be the perfect opportunity. He put his letter away, and grabbed a piece of sugar. He wondered if Jean liked sugar cubes. Possible conversation starter, perhaps. He could imagine it now.

 _Hey Jean, do you like sugar?_

 _Yes, Julien._

 _Would you like a sugar cube?_

 _Really? A gift for me?_

He wondered if Jean would give him a hug to thank him.

Julien shook his head. He had to focus on the present. He quietly snuck over to Jean's locker and cracked it open. His eyes went straight to the books on the top shelf, which he grabbed. The first one opened to a photo of Jean and his family. Julien's first instinct was to take the photo so he'd have it to analyze, but he decided against it. He looked at the next book and flipped it open to the first page.

 _Oh mon Dieu,_ he thought as he tried to decipher the name written there, _his handwriting is gorgeous: elegant and graceful, just like the person who wrote it_. Jean… Kippelstein?

Even his name was enticing and mysterious. He liked knowing Jean's name; he felt like they were bound by a shared secret now. No one else in the college knew Jean's name, and now he knew Jean more intimately than anyone else. It was then that he decided that Jean Kippelstein would be _his_ and no one else's.

Scene 5.9

The "boches" burst into the classroom claiming that the school was harboring illegal Jews. The whole class was silent but Julien just couldn't resist a quick glance at Jean's direction. Just to make sure Jean was safe. Just to make sure that _they_ would not take Jean away. Jean... the boy who made this school year unforgettable. Apparently that was enough for the f*cking "boche" to notice. Whatever happened after that Julien didn't want to remember.


	2. Chapter 2

Scene 6 A la fin du debut

"Au revoir, Jean." The words never left Julien's mouth. He raised a hand as the dark haired beauty turned for one last glance at him. Then, the Kraut grabbed Jean by the scruff of his neck and dragged him away. Forever.

The Kraut addressing the boys looked none too pleased at the distraction.

"As I was saying, what you French lack is discipline." Julien was furious now. _Had he not been disciplined in his pursuit of Jean Kippelstein? Had he not been disciplined enough in hiding their secret?_ As soon as Julien thought it, he knew. _No, he had not. He had given away the beautiful, dark, and mysterious Jean Kippelstein with one undisciplined turn of his head._ Julien knew he would pay for that mistake for the rest of his life. He looked at the Kraut again.

"You boys, you will go to the train station, and there, you will wait for your parents to come and get you. And then, you will atone for your sins in harbouring the _Juifs_." He said this last word with a sneer. _Like being a Jew was something to be ashamed of,_ Julien thought. _Jean is a hundred times the man that you are._ The boys began to leave, trickling past motionless Julien Quentin. He was all alone in this world, again. When he had just found Jean…

"Not you, boys." The Kraut was barking again, this time at the boys lined up against the wall. "You're coming with us." Julien glared at the Kraut. _This was it. This was all the rebellion he had in him._ Julien was too crushed to muster any other kind of courage against les Allemands. He watched as the numbers around him dwindled, until he was the only one left in the courtyard.

An hour passed, then two. Julien was still in the courtyard when Pere Michel found him.

"Julien, you'll catch a cold!" He stayed very still. _Maybe, if he could stay still enough, he could pause time, or even reverse it. This time around, he would not give Jean away._

"The cold in my limbs cannot surpass the cold in my heart." Pere Michel looked at him strangely.

"I understand you are upset, young Julien. But it mustn't do to mope around like that. You care about him, but you're not in love, right?"

Julien swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "Non." That word. That word felt like a betrayal of everything he was.

"Bon. Come, let's go to the train station."

They left through the same door that Jean had been dragged. Julien whispered to the walls "Au revoir, Jean Kippelstein."

A la gare

"Julien! Julien! Mon cher fils!" Mme Quentin burst through the doors of the train. Julien didn't bother to smile. "I heard about Jean Bonnet. I am so sorry." She wrapped him in her arms and kissed him on the top of his head. Francois came over.

"Negus didn't escape after all." He looked sad, but not nearly as crushed as Julien felt.

"Maman. His name is-" Julien hiccupped. "was Jean Kippelstein."


	3. Chapter 3

p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"span lang="FR" style="font-size: 14pt; font-family: 'Brush Script Std';"Les months pass/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"span lang="FR" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"Only once Julien was safely locked in his room in Paris, did he allow himself to crumble. It felt long overdue. Jean, whom he had loved. Gone. He couldn't be gone. God would not have been so cruel./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Julien left his room only for meals and during the air raid sirens that rang out over the city practically every night. And life continued. He and Francois were enrolled at l'Ecole Masillon which was filled with snobby preening privileged boys. They were nothing like Jean. They had none of his beauty, intelligence, or sophistication. They were twice as bad as the boys at boarding school, but Julien had learned to be tough and deal with them. Sophie still worked at the Croix Rouge, and Rose and Aline were both coming of age. Rose was getting married to a tall and gaunt man who said terrible things about les Juifs, and Aline was leaving to study arts at the University. Julien's pere spent essentially all of his time in Lille and his maman was busy. True, she had no job, but she was busy trying to keep her family together. Julien thought it was a noble, if futile pursuit./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Every day, Julien learned about the gains the Allies were making in beating the Krauts. Every night, he wet his bedsheets with tears. Le 7 avril, Julien lit a candle and sang Joyeux anniversaire. He realized Jean was turning 13. Then, he realized that Jean might already have died. He cried. Mme. Quentin found Julien asleep on the floor, the candle still burning in front of him. She put it out, because candles were expensive./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"Le 7 juillet, Julien turned 13 as well. Mme. Quentin had pulled some strings and Adrienne, the cook, had been able to make cake with the confiture that Julien loved. It was just Julien and his parents at his birthday dinner. Francois had arranged a rendez-vous avec sa copine at the last minute, Sophie was at the Croix Rouge, Rose had just stayed away on purpose, and Aline was at the University./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Julien stared sullenly at the cake. emI traded that confiture with Joseph, which got him into trouble, which made him turn against Pere Jean, which exposed Jean. It's all my fault. If I could trade this confiture for Jean, I would./em His composure cracked as he remembered. emJean loved this confiture./em/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""What are you being so gloomy about, boy?" M. Quentin looked angry. He was always angry these days, though Julien didn't see how he was entitled to his rage./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Jean loved this confiture," he mumbled./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Speak up! I can't hear a word of what you're saying!" M. Quentin barked. Julien's maman shot him a warning glare./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Jean loved this confiture," he repeated. His father looked strangely amused./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Who is this Jean? A cliptip?" He turned to Mme. Quentin. "I hope our son hasn't fallen in love with one of those."/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Julien forced the rage rising in his stomach downwards. He would not lose his temper. He would not let his father get the best of him. M. Quentin just continued. "Those Jesus killers got what was coming to them. Hey, Julien, do you know they're being made into soap once they die?" And that was that. Julien saw red as he shot up, knocking his chair to the ground./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Julien!" Mme Quentin tried to grab him but he was hurtling over the table already, his hands over his father's face. Julien wanted to strangle him. He wanted to gouge his father's eyes out, to tear out his hair. emPoor Jean had done nothing wrong. It was I who did everything wrong. But I will not stand this wrong, to have his dignity so marred./em/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" He landed a solid punch against his father's nose. "THE JEWS DID NOTHING." His father snarled and Mme Quentin dragged her son away./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""What's wrong with you?" M. Quentin bellowed. He got to his feet. "The Jews took away the customers my factory supplied. That is what they did wrong." He spun on his heel and left the dining room. Julien stood with his mother as his father grabbed his cloak and stormed out of the apartment. Mme Quentin silently picked up the cake and headed back to the kitchen./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"That night, the air raid sirens sounded again. "Papa, I hear air raid sirens! We need to find shelter!" Julien yelled at his dad./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Non!" yelled his father. "I never resolve fights until the other person admits they're wrong!"/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Dad, vous etes trop petainiste!" hollered Francois. "Come on everyone, let's leave him to rot." So the entire Quentin family abandoned their breadwinner on a Paris street and went to the shelter./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"That night, M. Quentin was blown up./p 


	4. Chapter 4

La Liberation de Paris August 1944

Julien stared down at his confiture. "Maman. Francois. I know a month has passed since Father's death, but I can't help feeling guilt that he died without reconciliation."

Mme. Quentin and Francois stared back at him.

"Seriously?" Mme inquired sarcastically. "I was married to him for 25 years and even I don't give a merde."

"Yeah, come on," Francois added. "I'm the one who let him rot. I don't feel bad at all!"

"I don't usually speak my emotions to you," said Julien, looking down to the ground. "In fact, the only person I ever felt truly comfortable to share my feelings with was Jean. And he's probably dead in some camp right now. I just feel so much guilt about so many things. First Jean, now Papa… When will the deaths end? When will we finally be free? If only Jean had been hidden until now. If only I hadn't gave him the glance that led to his death. I… I… I… just got along with him so well. He understood me like no one ever has."

Julien looked up. His family had left hours ago.

Late October 1944

Julien stared out the window of his flat. The image of Jean's smiling face and beautiful curled hair re-emerged in his mind. He felt a premonition of doom and remembered the best moments he and Jean spent in the short time they shared together. He remembered the determined look in Jean's eyes as they walked through the forest, and how badly he had wanted to pin him onto a tree and kiss the living hell out of him. He had wanted so desperately to bite Jean's luscious lip and run his hands through those curly locks. Jean may have wanted to find a way back to le college, but Julien had wanted to prolong their alone time in the secluded forest.

Julien's stomach twisted. Something terrible had happened to Jean, he was sure of it. He whispered to the sky, "Mon Dieu, please let Jean know that I love him. Please let him live so I can tell him." But Jean was probably dead. If he hadn't returned to see Julien by now, he must have died. Julien knew it was all his fault.

Scene 11. The Allied Victory May 1945

"Excuse me, monsieur," Julien inquired to an American soldier on the streets of Paris. "Do you have a record of Jean Kippelstein? He was in the camp at Auschwitz."

"Ah yes," said the American, rifling through his records. You see, he didn't have the aid of the internet so this took a long time. Julien stood there as the American looked through five separate tomes of Auschwitz records. Late afternoon turned into evening turned into dusk turned into dawn. Finally, the soldier opened his mouth. "He died in the camp."

Julien was shocked beyond belief. He had known there was a low probability of Jean's survival, but he had had the smallest hope that Jean would have survived.

"When?"

"October 1944."

He had hoped that he and Jean could have escaped to a tropical island and recreated one of the scenes from the Arabian Nights. Julien was now 13. His lust for Jean was growing, though he knew it could never be realised.

Francois passed his bac and went to university. Shortly after, he met the girl of his dreams, proposed to her, and moved out of the Quentins' flat.

Julien continued to attend the snobby Parisian school. He hated it. He was full of teen angst and also Holocaust angst and homosexual angst that he kept hidden deep inside.


	5. Chapter 5

3 years later…

One day, in class, Julien was watching one of the smarter boys doing a math problem on the blackboard. Julien was once again reminded of Jean. _Damn,_ he thought, _I can't do this anymore!_ He kicked back his chair, and left the room. The eyes of his classmates bore into his back. He didn't care. Jean was the only boy he'd ever let look at his back like that. No one else mattered.

Julien stormed down the echoing empty hallways of the school. Everybody was in class, which was good. He didn't want anybody to see him in this state. Nobody except Jean was allowed to do that. At the fresh remembrance of Jean, he started tearing up. No. Jean would never be here for him again. He was dead.

Julien started running. His footsteps pounding down the creaking floor almost drowned out his thoughts of dead Jean. Almost. Panic and despair rose in his gorge as he burst out of the doors of the school into the courtyard. Fresh air would help him, he hoped.

He sat outside for a while. The headmaster of the school, a man who strongly resembled Pere Jean, came out leading a kid around. The boy was perhaps the same age as Julien, and just a bit taller. He had dark hair, like Jean, and sorrowful eyes, like Jean. _Why couldn't he stop thinking about Jean? Years after his death, Jean was still the only thing he fixated on._ Julien stifled a sob. He looked up at Pere Jean 2.0 leading the boy, who looked strangely like Jean avec les sorrows de la world.

Pere Jean 2.0 turned to face Julien. "Julien Quentin! Why aren't you in class? That's not cool. But while you're here, I will introduce you to our new pupil, Jean Kippelstein."

"Bonjour, Julien," said Jean. He looked thinner and shorter than he had been before they had taken him away. But that was probably because Julien had grown a great deal and was nearly as tall as Jean. Jean smiled, and his full upper lip jutted out a bit, just as how Julien remembered.

Julien could not believe his eyes. _Could it be the boy he had dreamed about for years? Could he really be standing in front of him?_ Julien reached out and touched Jean's face. Well, more like facepalmed it with a floppy hand. He hoped Jean's motor skills had improved after all these years, because his definitely had not.

"Is it you? Jean?"

"Yes, dear Julien, it is me."

"I… I… I can't believe it's you, Jean," he stuttered. "All those years… I could never get over the guilt of what I did… Please forgive me, you were truly an amazing friend… You won't believe how much I missed you."

Jean blushed at these words. Julien was surprised. He had never seen Jean show this kind of emotion before. _Could Jean possibly love him back?_ The odds seemed impossible, but he had spent so many years longing for him, he couldn't waste any more time on words unsaid. He knew he had to tell Jean how he felt. No matter the consequences. Sure, it was 1947 and l'homosexualite was banned, but Julien wouldn't let societal norms define his life. This was love, he knew it. Nothing could get in the way in love. Love had no labels. Love did not care about gender. Love won all. He just needed Jean to love him back and he would be invincible.

"Hey, are you free tonight?" He asked Jean, while Pere Jean 2.0 was still watching. "Maybe we could eat confiture and chill."

"Yeah, sounds cool," responded Jean, trying to look nonchalant.

"I'll pick you up after school," Julien shamelessly winked.

Back at the Quentins

"Maman," Julien shouted. "I'm home! And I brought someone special with me."

"Shush Julien," Maman admonished. "Who could possibly be worth all that racket?"

She turned around. "Mon Dieu," she gasped. "Could that possibly be…? But I thought he was dead? That gracious Jew… What's your name again, cheri?"

"Jean Kippelstein."

"Oh yes, that must be your real name. I am so happy you made it out alive. Julien missed you desperately."

"Mamaaan," groaned Julien. "Stop embarrassing me!"

"Mais c'est vrai!" said Mme Quentin. "He was absolutely despondent for… how long has it been, 4 years?"

Julien's ears turned red. Jean stared at them while pretending not to stare at them. He loved how his ears stuck out. Except then he had inappropriate thoughts about taking Julien's earlobes in his own lips. And maybe taking some other part of Julien between his lips. And that was not ok according to the Torah. Also his inappropriate thoughts sometimes made for some embarrassing moments.

"Okay, why don't you boys go spend some time alone in Julien's large soundproof room?" Both boys blushed simultaneously. Mme Quentin didn't notice a thing, as usual.

In Julien's extremely soundproof room...

The two boys stood awkwardly at the door. "So," Jean began. "I finally get to see your room. This is what it's like."

"Yes," replied Julien. "Want to get a better look?"

They shut the door and sat on the edge of Julien's luxurious king-sized bed. They stared into each other's eyes. _How,_ thought Julien, _are his lips so full?_ He desperately wanted to let his tongue run along them. _I bet they taste like ambrosia. Truly, Jean was the nectar of the gods!_ His lips looked so soft. Also chapped because back then, boys did not think they looked cool using chapstick.

Jean was trying not to stare at the edges of Julien's ears. _If only,_ he thought, _I could kiss them._ He knew his fantasies were getting a hold of him. "So," he said, breaking the silence, "It has been awhile."

"Too long," replied Julien, trying to look him in the eyes instead of staring at his lips. "Listen, Jean, I need to tell you something. You don't have to say anything, or do anything about it, but please don't insult me or run away telling everybody else."

"I could never insult you, Julien," whispered Jean, as if he were talking to himself. "You mean too much to me… You couldn't comprehend how much…"

"I think I do," Julien leaned forward. Their faces were inches apart. He could see the pink of Jean's lips. He could lean in and kiss him… But he hesitated. He knew he should confess his feelings first, and be assured he had no competition. "You can't tell anyone. Not even Negus."

Jean's expression changed. "Negus is dead."

Julien's face softened. "Oh, Jean…"

"When I escaped Auschwitz, we were both running out. I got past the gate first. I turned around to see Negus being shot by the guards. He told me to run. He told me," Jean paused for a second. His breath was shallower now, and shaky, as if he wanted to cry. "That he loved me."

Julien could not believe what he was hearing.

"He sacrificed himself for me, Julien," a tear streamed down his face. "Negus told the guards that his name was Jean Kippelstein so that I could escape unrecorded."

"What? When was this?" asked Julien, also tearing up.

"October of '44. You have no idea how guilty I felt, to have escaped while the person who loved me was being shot down."

Julien's voice suddenly became quiet. "Did you love him?"

"I… I don't know. He was my best friend and he sacrificed himself for me. He paid the highest price to save me. I don't even know if I deserve it. I'm a horrible person."

"No, Jean," Julien replied sharply. "You could never be a bad person."

That night, after tears, piano playing, and chestnuts, Jean returned to his distant relatives' house. Julien could not bear to see him leave. He knew he would see Jean at school, but it wouldn't be the same. He wanted to help him, he wanted to love him, he wanted to protect him from all the horrors of the world. He wanted to wrap his arms around Jean and never let him go.

All day at school, Julien had been building up the courage to tell Jean he loved him. It was surprisingly difficult, even after Julien had been reminded that he and Jean did not have all the time in the world. Instead of revealing his true feelings, he had gotten insight on what had happened in the camp. Although his heart felt it had been wrenched, squashed, and torn apart, he now better understood his object of affection. Jean had opened up to him. And that maybe was reward unto itself.


	6. Chapter 6

Back at school

Jean and Julien continued seeing each other au college. They made time for each other during le dejeuner, and whenever they had a moment to spare. It was not the same. They still had their deep moments, but they could both feel something growing between them. They stared into each other's eyes for extended periods of time, and neither of them could focus on their schoolwork thanks to each other. Even Jean, who wanted to be un comptable, could no longer finish his devoirs de mathematiques.

A week passed. Julien decided that action had to be taken. Something had to be done. L'homosexualite was not acceptable by society. The next best thing he could do would be to have Jean stay at his house permanently. He asked his mother for permission, to which she obviously consented to, being the mother that she was.

Scene 15

Jean was moved into Julien's soundproof room. At first, Julien had offered the king-size to Jean, while he could sleep on the extra cot Mme Quentin had brought in. Jean graciously declined, saying the cot was enough. Although truthfully he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep in Julien's bed without thinking of his sculpted body.

In the middle of the night, Julien was awoken to the sound of Jean thrashing around on his cot. He climbed out of bed and shook the mysterious handsome boy awake. He glanced into Jean's eyes. "A nightmare?" He inquired.

"Yes," Jean nodded, a bit guardedly.

"Tell you what," said Julien, trying to seem nonchalant. "How about tonight, we share my bed? That way you will feel safer with me around."

Jean blushed. "If that's okay with you, Julien."

 _That's better than okay,_ thought Julien, _I'll finally have my dreams come true._ He became hard just thinking about it.

Neither of them could sleep that night. Their minds were constantly drifting to each other. They turned so they could face each other, and talked about life. They talked about the good, like playing the piano and eating chestnuts, and about the bad, like Jean's time at Auschwitz and the bombing of Julien's father. Their whispers grew gentler as the night progressed, and their bodies got closer and closer. Each boy could feel himself falling deeper in love.

As the sun began to rise, Jean woke with his arms entwined with Julien's. He left them there, shrouded in Julien's warmth, and fell back asleep.

It was morning when the two of them woke again. Julien leaned to face Jean's closed eyes.

"Tu as peur?" He asked

"Tout le temps," he replied. "But I am never scared in your arms."

"What happened," inquired Julien, "in the camp?"

"It was so hard. After leaving Auschwitz, I continued walking to Krakow with the sole intention to sneak on a train and return to you, Julien." He paused, certain that he had blurted out too much too soon. _His stupid mouth! He'd never let it get ahead of his mind before. Well, before he met Julien all those years ago._

Once again Julien was speechless. "Oh," he whispered.

"I couldn't help feeling guilt for Negus. I mean, I know it was his wish to save me, but I didn't love him back! And I still don't! I still… can't."

"You can't choose who you fall in love with, Jean. But you can choose to have a happy ending together." Julien snuggled closer to Jean.

La classe de maths

"Merde! I'm going to be late! To la classe de maths! When I'm going to become a comptable!" Jean gathered his things in the cafeteria au college. Julien laughed. _Lovely sophisticated Jean looked flustered,_ he thought. _Would he look like that in bed?_ But then Julien reminded himself that God was watching his thoughts. _God's like Big Brother_ , he thought. _Always watching…_

"Julien!" Jean yelled and Julien snapped out of his daydream

"Huh?"

"Julien, I was asking you something important!" Julien held his breath, not daring to hope that Jean was asking if he loved him back. "I asked if you had seen ma calculatrice"

Slowly, Julien exhaled. So, it wasn't those three sweet words he had been longing to hear from the lovely boy's mouth.

"Non, Jean. Non."

Meanwhile, Jean was frustrated. Not just because he couldn't find sa calculatrice. It was also because Julien looked frustrated. Sexually frustrated. He wanted to place a palm on Julien's chest and push him backwards until he was against a wall and kiss him. He wanted to satisfy Julien's cravings. He wished he were capable of doing that. _But no,_ he thought. _Julien wouldn't want someone damaged as me._

The long months spent in hiding had taken its toll on Jean. The train system was completely unusable, with the Nazis searching every car for politicals and Juifs and homosexuels. Jean was 67% of the people they were looking for. A kind family of a pastor on the outskirts of Krakow had taken him in and hidden him in their cellar. There was a trap-door beneath a mound of potatoes, and every time the Nazis ransacked the family home, the pastor had called out "jesteś ziemniaczana", Polish for "tu es une pomme de terre." That was the signal for Jean to dig through the mound of potatos and disappear through the trap door to a dank and cold space.

Alone under that cellar, Jean had dwelled upon the death of Negus and the growing fear in his gut that Julien would have moved on and by the time he returned to France, Julien would have gotten un copain, or worse, une copine. He tortured himself with thoughts of Julien loving a petite girl, an honest chretien, with flaxen hair and an easy smile and plentiful words. Jean could never be someone that Julien wanted. By the time the Soviets had swept through Poland, liberating the Jews and sending the prisoners back to their homes, Jean had convinced himself of the futility of his unrequited love, bid goodbye to the pastor, and gone back to live with his the sister-in-law of his uncle's third cousin's ex-husband. Those three months had changed him. He had never tried to find Julien after he returned. _Let him have his petite chretien girl with hair of silk and easy smiles and laughs. Please, let Julien be happy if he cannot be with me._


	7. Chapter 7

A Culturally Insensitive Winter Holiday

"Au revoir, Julien!"

"Au revoir, Maman!" The boys waited for the door to slam shut behind Mme. Quentin's fur-clad back.

"And now we have the apartment to ourselves for a whole two semaines!" Julien grinned at Jean. "Think of the things we could do!"

Jean smiled back, a bit uncomfortably. Julien's words had prompted his mind to fill with images of scandalous things they could do together.

"Where's your mother even going, anyways?"

"To Lille. She still talks to Papa's family, who lives there, plus she manages the usine now so she needs to be there."

"Pendant Noel? Even now?"

"They have some important documents they need for her to approve, right now. Otherwise, we may lose ownership of l'usine."

"Oh." Jean's face turned serious.

"No, it's nothing _that_ serious!" Julien laughed. "But we're alone for Christmas. And I've decided to make it very nice. We should do something special for the first Christmas we spend together." _Oops,_ Julien thought. _Too many words, too soon._ The doorbell rang and he ran to get it, seizing the chance to get away from his embarrassing blunder.

"Jean, the greenery is here!" Julien opened the door fully and two delivery men entered the room, carrying massive boxes. Jean gave a small smile and watched as Julien signed off on the delivery. "We have the tree here and the wreaths." He unlatched the largest of the boxes and let the sides crumple to the ground. A tree that was taller than the two boys standing on each other's shoulders flopped out. "Funny, I thought it would be bigger."

They dragged the tree into the living room and, with much effort, righted it. Then, they hung up enormous wreaths and decorated. Julien left at one point and came back with a nativity scene and des bougies. As morning turned into afternoon, bread, pate, foie gras, escargots, goose, chestnuts, cakes, and wines began appearing in the kitchen.

"We're not even going to finish this, Julien. What a waste."

"No, that's the point. We take the rest of this to Notre Dame de Paris."

"Wow." Jean's eyes clouded over.

"What is it? You've seemed off all day."

"It's nothing. It's just…"

Julien nearly dropped the goose he was holding as he realized his horrifying mistake. "You're Jewish. Merde, I'm so sorry." They stared at each other. "Please, Jean, let me fix this."

"No, don't worry about me. I don't have beaucoup d'argent and I really don't want to give you any trouble." He turned to leave. "I'm going to the Marais. I'll be back soon. Please, don't worry about me, Julien. It's no big deal."

"Wait."

Jean was already out the door.

"Merde."

"Monsieur, what is one supposed to do for Hanukkah?" The grocer peered at Julien curiously.

"You're not one of us."

"Of course I'm not one of you, that's why I'm asking!" Julien looked nervously at the setting sun behind the buildings of the Marais "Monsieur, please, I don't have much time. I made a huge mistake and I need to fix it before my friend comes back home and he's going to come out of there any minute!" Julien pointed to the synagogue across the street. The minute he spoke, a cloaked figure emerged from the doors of the synagogue. "Merde, that's him!" The grocer took one long look at Julien and then turned back into the grocery store. "Henri!" Another grocer came out. "Delay that young fellow!" The grocer pointed across the street to the cloaked figure. The second grocer nodded and ran across the road.

"Thank you, monsieur. That wasn't necessary though, please, I don't want to trouble you." The grocer looked carefully back at Julien.

"You love that boy, don't you?"

"Excuse me?"

The grocer winked. "This isn't my first rodeo, kid. Plus, we don't pretend that Henri's my brother for nothing." He set off. "Follow me."

"Would you like to come with me? I have latkes, son." Jean pretended not to notice, though it was obviously just an act at this point. This crazy grocer had been bothering him for the past half an hour. Afraid of leading him to Julien's apartment, Jean had taken countless wrong turns and crossed the Seine at least five times. What had been a ten minute walk had turned into one that probably wouldn't end until the next day.

"Okay, young Julien." The grocer handed him yet another item from the piles in the store. "You're set."

Julien looked down at the box of things cradled in his arms. A Menorah, olive oil, paper packets of jelly doughnuts, latkes, cheeses, brisket, applesauce, and fried vegetables, dreidels, chocolate coins, and candles. "I don't think I can remember what to do with these."

"But your young man will." The grocer stopped in front of Julien's apartment building.

"Thank you, monsieur." He dug in his pockets. "I can pay you for your time."

"Nonsense, son." The grocer stepped back as Julien offered him his bills. "It's the holidays, after all. I'm glad I could help you." He sighed, dreamily. "Young love. I remember what that was like."

"I haven't said anything yet."

The grocer's eyes bulged. "Well, you better do so soon. You don't have all the time in the world. As the past years have reminded us all." As Julien headed up the stairs, the grocer yelled one last sentence. "Remember, love knows no boundaries."

Jean sighed as he slammed the front door behind him. "Julien, I just spent the past hour and a half trying to shake a crazy man who was following me." He looked up and saw Julien standing at the door of the kitchen. Something was different about the apartment. The same decorations were there but there was something that made it more familiar.

"Yeah, I got a menorah and candles. And I bought Jewish food. And other things that I can't even name. And I took all of the pork stuff to Notre Dame already. And I asked that crazy man to bother you. And I need to go to la messe tomorrow morning but I can walk you to the synagogue. And I am so, so, so sorry."

"You didn't have to do this." Jean started crying.

"I didn't have to. I wanted to." Julien moved forward so he was standing right in front of Jean. He brushed away the tears with his thumb.

"I haven't had something like this since before the war. Since my parents died." His wounded eyes met Julien's. "Thank you."

The words the grocer had said to Julien echoed in his head. _You better tell him soon. You don't have all the time in the world._ "Jean, I have something to tell you."

"What is it?"

Julien braced himself. All those years. It was coming down to this. _I can do this,_ he thought. "I'm in love with you." An awkward silence hung between them as Julien's gut twisted. _This is it. He'll never talk to me again._ "Please say something. You're scaring me."

Jean grabbed his arms and pushed him backwards until he was against a wall. Julien braced himself for the punch that was coming. Instead, Jean moved his hands upwards to cup his chin and then kissed him.

"Je t'aime aussi," he whispered when they finally parted.

They prayed and lit candles and ate and talked and laughed and played games. When it turned pitch black outside, Julien drew all the curtains and lit the fire in the living room. They sat side by side, awkwardly in front of the fire, as they remembered again the change in their friendship that had happened that day. Finally, Jean slid over next to Julien and laid his head on his chest.

"You ever think this is wrong?" Julien asked absently, as he stroked Jean's curls.

"Us? Together?"

"Yeah."

"Tout le temps." Jean turned to face him. "But I think that God is kind. I think that God doesn't care about whom we love. I think He cares about whether we love at all." They stared at the fire for a long time.

"I would gladly burn in Hell for a thousand years to make you happy."

"I would rather not see you burn in Hell at all."

"Glad we're on the same page."

"You think it's wrong, don't you?"

"I do." Julien sighed. "But I want to be happy and I want to make you happy and I know that we only have right now." He couldn't hold back anymore. He grabbed Jean by the collar of his sweater and slid down underneath him. Their eyes locked on each other's as Julien ran his fingers around Jean's head and gently pulled him downwards. His lips were chapped but Julien didn't even care. It was their second kiss that day.


	8. Chapter 8

Une lettre de maman

'Dear Julien,

I'll be in Lille for a while. I have met a lovely man, a friend of your Papa's back in the day. He owns a few usines in Lille. Long story short, I'll be staying in Lille for a while. Maybe until June.

However, that is not what I want to discuss with you. As we are both well aware, the bac is coming up in May. I expect you to study and I expect you to take them. I think it is time for you to give up your silly dream of becoming a priest in the Congo. We've entertained your outlandish ideas for so long, because we expected you to grow out of them. Apparently not. I expect you to faire polytechnique, like your grandfather. Engineering is a noble profession as well. And one that is much more realistic and pays more than being a priest. Face it. You will want to find a girl and get married someday.

Love, Maman.'

"What are you reading?"

"Maman sent me a letter."

Jean sighed softly. "I wish my mother could send me a letter. My dad's dead but they never figured out what happened to her" Julien wrapped Jean into his arms. "What did she say?"

"That she's not going to be back until June. She found a new grand sentimental. And she expects me to faire polytechnique."

"And that's not what you want."

"Why is it so hard for her to understand that I'm going to Congo?"

"Because she's your mother. Because she wants you to have a good future and to stay close to her. Don't lose hope, Julien. She wants what's best for you."

"And you take her side because?"

"Because I no longer have my own mother."

"Jean!"

Jean was thrashing around in the covers. In the process, he had sent the blankets tumbling to the floor. Outside, it was still pitch black, except for the faint glow of the moon. Julien groaned. He glanced at the clock. It read 2:50.

"Jean, wake up!" Julien grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him. "Jean!"

He startled awake. "No, please don't kill me," he screamed.

"It's me. Julien."

"Merde. I'm sorry." His eyes were wild and his hair was unkempt. There was cold sweat soaking the back of his shirt.

"Here," Julien said, tossing a dry shirt at him. Jean changed quickly, and Julien admired the brief glimpse that it afforded him of his beautiful abdomen. They lay back down and Julien moved closer, wrapping his arms around Jean's waist and twining their hands together.

"Please don't leave me. You're all I have left."

"I won't. I promise."

"Thank you, Julien."


	9. Chapter 9

Le school is a drag

"Ugh." Julien tightened the tie around his neck, a little too tightly.

"Silly Julien," Jean chuckled. He smiled to himself as he loosened Julien's tie. _What a klutz._ But Julien was _his_ klutz and that was all that mattered.

"Shush," he muttered, red spreading across his cheeks. "I don't want to go back to snobby Parisian school. The boys there are insufferable."

"I know. But we can do it together and we'll be out of there in a few months."

"Yeah, I guess…" The mail slot down the hall clanged open and a packet of envelopes fell onto the floor of the apartment.

"I bet my bac registration is in there!" Jean could hardly contain his excitement. He sprinted down the hallway, nearly sliding and breaking his neck on the polished waxed floors. The maid had done her job, maybe too well.

"I hope I don't get another lettre de Maman." Julien trailed after him, less enthusiastically.

Jean picked up the bundle. "Sorry, Julien."

"You've got to be kidding me," Julien sighed. "Another one?"

"Another five, actually."

"Merde." He held out his hand and Jean handed the envelopes to him. "What else is there?"

"A flyer for home cleaning services, a trial subscription for this new film service? Le _Netflix_?"

"What a dumb name. I bet it's never going to catch on."

"My bac registration, a letter from a Nigerian prince…" Jean trailed off, confused.

"What is it? Don't tell me you've never gotten a letter from a Nigerian prince."

"No, it's not that." He held out an envelope to Julien.

"A Julien. De Pere Jean, Mauthausen, 10 mai, 1945." He gaped. "But it can't be. Pere Jean is dead! And it's 1948!"

"Pere Jean died after liberation. And I guess this just took a long time to get to us?" Jean was about to open the envelope when another parcel dropped out from beneath it. Julien bent to pick it up.

"Why is there another bac registration here?" He turned it over and his stomach clenched with comprehension. "Julien Quentin, registered by Mme. Anne Bernard-Quentin."

"Julien."

Silently, Julien stormed down the hallway and back into their shared room.

Mme Quentin is being obsessive

'Dear Julien,

I hope you are well and that you've had a nice Christmas. Your Papa's friend is very nice. His name is Emile Perrot, and I will be staying a while longer with him. Have you made up your mind about what you are going to faire polytechnique for? Engineering? Or law? Or politics. You were always such a charming boy. But YOU MUST FAIRE POLYTECHNIQUE.

Love, Maman'

'Dear Julien,

It has been a lovely New Year in Lille. I made the resolution that I would be diligent in providing my baby boy the education that he must undertake. I think you should resolve to take the bac (and, of course, pass it) and then faire polytechnique. Really, that is the best and only way. Your father would be proud.

Love, Maman'

'Dear Julien,

Francois and his wife are expecting a child. You should faire polytechnique too in order to marry and expect a child and be able to provide for your family. You were always a family man and a grand sentimental. You know what you have to do.

Love, Maman

PS The deadline for registering for the bac is almost here. Have you registered yet?'

'Dear Julien,

I hope you have registered for your bac and are studying hard. Don't go to Africa to become a priest. You will contract cholera AND DIE. You do know that the registration deadline is tomorrow, right?

Love, Maman.'

'Dear Julien,

I don't trust you. I don't think you understood me clearly enough when I said "Don't go to Africa because you will contract cholera AND DIE." I think you are trying to subvert my wishes and purposefully not registering for your bac. Therefore, I take it upon myself to register for you. You will find your registration package soon. Don't subvert me on this, Julien. You will take the bac. You will faire polytechnique. You will live the life that your father and I worked so hard to give you. Study hard.

Love, Maman.'

"Julien, sweetheart." Jean closed the door softly behind him.

Julien was busy shredding the letters that his Maman had sent him. "Go away, Jean," he sniffed.

"I won't. I love you." He sat down beside Julien. "And I can't. We share this room." He pressed a kiss against Julien's temple and hugged him tight.

"Do you think I should just give up Congo?"

"Why?"

"Because it's crazy. Because it's going to take me years to get to priesthood and how can I even be a priest when we're living this life of sin?"

"God loves all his children. One sin over a lifetime of good? He'll forgive you for that."

Le School

The whisperings at school started, quietly at first. That Jean and Julien seemed cozy, even for good friends. That they spent all their time together. That once, a classmate had seen them getting it on in an empty classroom. That one was a lie. But it was still repeated through the hallways.

"Jean!" Julien sighed as Jean sat bolt upright and screamed. "This is the sixth time this month!"

"I'm sorry, I really am."

"Talk to me, Jean. You've been shutting me out. Tell me what's going on in your nightmares."

"No."

Julien was startled by the finality of his statement. "What?"

"No, I… I can't talk about it with you."

"Come on. What could be so terrible that you can't even tell me?"

"A lot of things, actually."

"Please, Jean. I just want to help you."

"If I told you, you would want nothing to do with me anymore."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." They lay back down and Julien wrapped himself around Jean.

"Please?"

"No."


	10. Chapter 10

Quentin est malade

"Did you hear?" The irritating little merde who sat behind Jean tapped him on the back. "Ton copain is in the infirmary."

"What?"

"Deaf, as well as gay? Tsk, tsk, Jean Kippelstein." A wicked smile spread over his shitty face. "Julien Quentin's in the infirmary. Something's wrong with him."

Jean bolted from his chair. The whole class stared at him. "Where are you going, Jean?" his prof de maths asked him.

"To Julien." He grabbed his bag and cloak and ran out of the classroom.

"You didn't have to ditch class for me." Julien smiled weakly from the bed he was lying on.

"That's right," the nurse added "You should be in math."

"No. I'm not leaving him."

"Well, in that case, you should probably bring him home. And call the doctor. I'm not quite sure what's going on. It's not a normal sickness."

Jean tenderly brushed back the hair stuck to Julien's pale face. "Let's go, dear." He glanced up at the nurse. "Should he be walking?"

"No. Use this." She opened the closet and pulled out a rickety rolling chair. _That's going to collapse any minute_ , Jean thought, _and hurt my sweet Julien._

"Are you sure that's not going to break?" The nurse shrugged, then landed a solid kick to the frame. The chair remained intact.

When they were back home again, Jean helped Julien into the bed. He undressed him and changed him into silk pyjamas, then wrapped him in layers of thick blankets. Jean called the doctor and Francois and Mme Quentin, made chicken soup, applied cold compresses, and emptied the barf bucket regularly. The doctor took his sweet time to arrive, and that irked Jean. But what he said when he came was worse.

"I don't know what's wrong with him. Never in my life have I seen such an illness as this."

"Well, what can we do?" Jean spoke in a hushed tone, urgently. He glanced quickly towards Julien in the bed and saw him hunched over the barf bucket again.

"Keep him warm and give him plenty of fluids. If his temperature rises above 40, call me again."

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" Jean said, infuriated. _All he can do to help my poor Julien is this? Little piece of shit._

"Yeah. Pretty much." The doctor shook Jean's hand. "And if you have any sisters," the doctor added, "please do set us up."

Every day that passed, Julien got worse. The doctor was summoned multiple times. The washroom became clogged with the amount of vomit they were pouring down the drain. Julien had a ghostly pallor and his fever never broke. They tried everything, from morphine to codeine to teas and herbal supplements to alcohol. Nothing worked.

Mme Quentin did not come back for her son. Francois and his heavily pregnant wife visited, once, but were quickly warned away by the doctor. "If your wife catches this illness," he cautioned, "she and the baby will be finished." Finally, as night was falling on the seventh day, the doctor took Julien's pulse one last time.

"I'm afraid, Jean, that he will not make it through tonight."

"You've got to be kidding me." A familiar knot of fear settled in Jean's stomach. He hadn't felt anything like that since… since the war ended.

"I'm sorry." The doctor picked up his briefcase. "I will send for the priest to perform the last rites and I'll come back in the morning to collect his body."

"No." Jean's entire being had turned ice cold with dread. "You will not send for that damned priest and you will not collect his body in the morning! Julien is not going to die! DO YOU HEAR ME? HE'S NOT GOING TO DIE."

The doctor patted Jean's hand comfortingly. "I'm sorry, Jean. I won't call for the priest, if that's what you two want. But I thought you should be warned about what will probably happen tonight." He turned and left the flat.

As the night progressed, Jean never left Julien's side. He whispered to Julien, even though he knew it was futile, because Julien was unconscious. Julien's breaths grew shallower, his movements smaller, and when Jean pressed his ear against Julien's chest, his heartbeat was fainter. Slowly, it was sinking in. _Julien will not live. He will not win against this illness. I will have lost him by morning._ As the sky outside grew even darker, Jean became sure that every breath Julien took was his last. He couldn't move from his position at the side of the bed. He didn't want to. He wanted to spend all of what little time they had left together at his side. His stomach twisted in cold fear and his eyes welled with tears. _This is it. We had so little time… only a few months to be happy together._ Jean stroked his hair and pressed his fingers against his burning lips.

"Je t'aime. Aujourd'hui, demain, toujours. It was always you, Julien." A tear rolled down his cheek and onto the sheets below. "You can go now. Don't be afraid. I'm here so you go now and be happy. I'll see you later." He kissed Julien on the forehead. As he lifted his head up, a burning hand grabbed onto the hair above the nape of his neck and held tight.

"It will always be you, Jean," said a hoarse whisper from beneath him. "I'm not dying. I'll live. Just for you."

As if a miracle had occurred, the sky began to turn pale pink, casting a weak glow of sunlight about the room. Jean felt Julien's forehead covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and breathed a sigh of relief that the fever was breaking.

"It will always be you," Jean whispered back.

"C'est un miracle!" The doctor proclaimed. "I've never seen a recovery like this!" He pressed his stethoscope against Julien's chest yet again. Jean rolled his eyes. _What a loony_. Julien returned his look with a small smile.

"Come on, it's been a week and you're saying the same thing yet again."

"Well yes, Jean. At this rate, he might be fine to go back to your college in a week or two!"

Hearing this, Julien groaned. "No, please, I am so totally fine with where I am right now."

"Jean! Jean! You're disrupting my sleep patterns, yet again!" Julien sighed and pulled himself closer to Jean. He brushed his sweaty hair back with his hand. "Jean, wake up!"

"NO, PLEASE. SPARE HIM!" Jean screamed into the night. He jerked upwards, his eyes wide open. "Oh, god, Julien, the nightmares." He buried his face in Julien's chest.

"I know and I'm here for you."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You did nothing wrong." Gently, Julien traced the planes of his back. "Talk to me. Please. I want to help you."

"I don't think you could…" He sighed. "I don't think anybody could."


	11. Chapter 11

"Hey, Jean." The dark and mysterious boy turned around at the doorway. "Can you help me do something?"

"Sure. What do you want me for?"

"Well, firstly, I don't have to have a reason to want you, do I?" Julien snickered as Jean turned red. "But that's not it." He grabbed a bottle of peppermint essential oil. "Can you rub this on my poitrine? I'm congested." Julien was not actually congested.

"You don't sound congested to me."

"Well, I am. Plus, the doctor said that peppermint oil is good for the soul. And you said you would help me."

Slowly, Jean walked back to the bed. He sat down on the edge, a foot away from where Julien was. Not close enough. He grabbed the bottle and unscrewed the cap. When he looked up, Julien was unbuttoning his silk pyjama shirt. His breath hitched in his throat as he stared at Julien's beautiful poitrine. _It was so perfect. So sculpted, so smooth, so… Aryan._

"Are you going to do it or not?" Surprised, Jean looked back up at Julien. Shyly, he squeezed oil into his palm and placed it on Julien's poitrine, right where his coeur was supposed to be. He gently rubbed the oil onto Julien's pecs until they glistened softly. He tried not to hyperventilate while he did this. It was hard, because of, firstly Julien's sculpted poitrine, but also because when he looked up, Julien was staring lustily at him. Jean bit his lip and finished the job.

"Alright, Julien." He capped the bottle and set it on the nightstand. However, as he prepared to stand and leave, Julien's hand wrapped around his wrist. They both froze, Jean not daring to meet Julien's eyes because he knew he would lose all control of his shaking breaths. Julien reached over and slid his fingers into Jean's curls. He slowly pulled him closer until their mouths were almost touching. Jean could hear Julien's rapid breathing and he was sure that Julien could feel his thundering heartbeat.

"Let me love you," Julien breathed. Then, he pressed their lips together.

Jean wasn't sure how it had happened, but a short while later, he was underneath Julien and wearing nothing but his boxers. When he opened his eyes, Julien was grinning devilishly. "You want to have another go?" Julien asked. Jean smiled dreamily. Then, he noticed his freshly ironed trousers crumpled in a heap on the floor.

"Dammit, Quentin!" He laughed as he got up and picked up his newly creased trousers from the floor.

"I guess that means you don't?" Still laughing, Jean put on his trousers and left the room. As soon as he was gone, Julien flopped onto the bed and let out a groan of frustration. Clearly, Jean was more interested in his no longer immaculate trousers than he was in getting naked with Julien. Still, this was a promising start…


	12. Chapter 12

"Jean has a copain!" one of the snobby Parisian boys sang from the other end of the hallway. A bunch of his classmates snickered but Jean ignored them. He was used to it. The yellow star on his coat was far worse than this teasing.

"We always knew you and Quentin had a thing for each other!" another called out.

"Can it, Gilles!" Jean shouted back. "At least I didn't lose my virginity to a prostitute in Marseilles!"

"And at least I did it with a girl!" The hallway burst into roars of laughter and Jean flipped the bird as he stalked out.

 _Immature. All of these boys are so small-minded. At least I have Julien. That's all that matters. Julien is all that matters._

"Those little pieces of merde," Julien seethed. "I'll rip out their throats when I get back."

"What's the use?" Jean shrugged. "They'll be back at it again after a while."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Yeah, but really there's no point. They're just stupid little boys who won't ever grow up. Those that mind don't matter and those that matter don't mind."

"Don't you just want to hurt them?"

"No. I've learned the hard way that hurt just leads to more hurt."


	13. Chapter 13

"Jean, this needs to stop!"

"I'm sorry, I don't know how to stop it!"

"We'll find someone. A psychiatrist, or a therapist, or a counselor, or a guidance counselor, or a social worker. Someone who can help you. You can't live like this. You must be miserable."

"There's nobody I can talk to about this! Nobody understands!"

"I'm sure nobody does, but it can't hurt. We have to do something. I don't want you to be miserable your whole life."

Jean buried his face in his hands. "I appreciate the sentiment, Julien, but there's really nothing anybody can do."

"Don't say that, Jean!" Julien encircled his arms around Jean's shoulders. "I love you. I love you so much. I love you because of everything you are and everything you have been and everything you will become. Please, talk to me if you can't find anybody else. I swear to God I won't judge. I love you, Jean. I want you to be happy."

Jean sighed heavily. _Maybe he'll change his mind._ Julien kept his fingers crossed.

"I love you because of the person you are, not the person I expect you to be, Jean. Nobody's perfect, but we're perfect for each other. You can tell me anything. I'll stand by you no matter what."

"Don't make this hard, Julien. Stop. Please, just stop already."

"Talk to me, and then I'll stop."

Jean rested his head on Julien's poitrine. "I don't want to talk about this. It's too dark. I'm too dark. So dark and twisted you wouldn't understand."

"So make me understand."

"I can't."

"Jean." Julien pulled him up by the shoulders and cupped his face in both his hands. "Look at me." Their pained eyes met. "I love you. That will never change."

"You'll never be able to save me."

"So I'll drown with you." Jean's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Tears pooled in his eyes. _Let me in,_ Julien silently willed. _Just this once. Because I love you._

"I- I'll try, Julien. But this is going to be rough."

Julien took both Jean's hands in his own. He squeezed them. "I'll be here for you for all of it."

"It was horrible, what happened in there. They separated us from Pere Jean at the gare and we were loaded onto cattle cars. There were so many people we could barely breathe. We couldn't move or even sit down." Jean's eyes widened as yet another horrifying memory hit him. "There was a little girl beside me. She was maybe five, or six. She was emaciated, her hair was falling out in clumps, and the only part of her clothing that wasn't falling apart was her yellow star. She died on the second or third day in the train. By the time we got to Auschwitz…" He shivered. "There weren't many of us still alive. When they opened the doors, piles of corpses fell out of the train onto the ground.

"They separated us when we got out. Men in one line, women in the other. There was a horrid man with a Hitler moustache who was sorting us. The old and sick and children went one way, the rest of us went the other. Lafarge-Dupre got sent with the old and sick. Negus and I, we barely scraped through the first selection. We nearly died the first day there, Julien. We didn't know it yet, but they were gassed.

"They took away everything we had. Clothing, luggage, letters, everything. They took away the book you gave me as well. We were doused in scalding water, our heads were shaved." Jean rolled up his left sleeve and revealed the massive scar along his forearm and Julien felt all the air being squeezed out of his chest as he realized what Jean was about to say next. "They tattooed us. My number was 183343. I'll always remember it. The priest cut it off of my arm when I escaped and the wound didn't heal well.

"Every morning, there was roll call. It lasted three or four hours at a time and we were all tired and hungry and so scared because they would pick out everybody slated for 'showers'. We knew it was the gas chambers and certain death. Afterwards, there would be basically water for breakfast. There was a guy, Antoine, who I befriended. He slept on the bunk beside mine. He served meals. He's dead now. I was going through the bunks one day and I found his body. I never became close to anybody else after him.

"I was assigned to remove the corpses of those who had died during the night. It was horrific. One after another, Negus and I, we would drag out those cold dead bodies. I was terrified. They haunted me for a long time. They still do. Julien, you could not imagine the horror of having to drag hundreds of bodies out to the incinerator every day. We were always hungry and cold and tired. We stole to survive. The corpses would sometimes have boots or clothes or slices of bread that we could steal to trade or use. It's disgusting to think about now, but we didn't care then. We were so desperate. Sometimes I didn't want to live anymore, but then I thought of you, and I realized that I had to. You were my only reason for surviving. The war had to end someday, and when it did, I vowed to see you again."

"What happened the night of your escape?"

"We had planned it for a long time. We stole and hoarded everything we could and we traded for food and sturdy clothes. Negus was transferred to Canada around then."

"Canada?"

"Where they kept all of the things they had confiscated from us when we first arrived. He swiped the Arabian Nights, the copy that you gave me, so that we could burn it for a fire. Bon Dieu, I wish I had let him do that.

"We just had to wait for the perfect opportunity to escape. In October, the day had come. We had heard that the guards would tighten security soon. At the same time that day, there was an issue with the incinerator, which meant that they couldn't dispose of the corpses fast enough. The guards were too busy to notice us too much, so just after dusk, when it started raining, we decided to make our getaway. We ran for it, but it was just too hard for Negus. He fell behind and the guards shot him and- bon Dieu, I left him behind." Jean clutched at his head. "I can't believe I did that."

"You had to."

"I could have saved him."

"No, you couldn't. When you made that decision to leave him behind, he was already dead, and they would have killed you too if you went back."

"I feel so terrible."

"I know you do."

"I'll be haunted by this for the rest of my life."

"I know. But Jean, there really wasn't anything that you could have done. Nobody blames you for it. Not even Negus. Not even bon Dieu."

"I don't think I can continue with this."

"You're almost there. Jean, it'll make you feel better when you're done."

"I continued running. I ran for the whole night and then slept all of the next day in the woods. It took me two more days to get to the pastor's house and by then I was sick and exhausted. I was sick for another month after I arrived. They said I nearly died. I felt so guilty. I wanted to die, to give up every single day, because Negus had saved me and I had betrayed him. And then when we were freed, and the Soviets had finished questioning me, and sent me back to France, I thought about how you had probably moved on, and how you were probably happier without me in your life. I decided not to bother you. If you were happy, then I should have been as well."

"You idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"You were free for three years, and you didn't find me?"

"It made sense to me!"

"You moron!"

"What?"

"I love you! How could avoiding me possibly make sense at all?"


	14. Chapter 14

"Hey, Jean."

"Yeah?"

"What's this?" Julien held up a small ziplock of white powder.

"Oh. I found this miracle powder. C'est le poudre de protein!"

"Wow! That's magical. What do we do with it!"

"I don't know. I think we snort it and then we magically get gains!"

"Wow! Let's try!"

So the two French boys took out their cartes de credit and then made little protein powder lines!

"This feels so illegal, Jean!"

"I know! We're like… like badasses! With gains!"

Then they rolled up their devoirs de maths and snorted the protein powder.

"Is this supposed to make us high?"

"I think so!"

"That's good. I feel high already! On gains!"

"So do I!"

Then they cavorted in the apartment with their newfound gains.

Jean could not fall asleep. There was something on his chest that he had to get out right then and there, even if it was still 2 in the morning. He gently shook Julien awake. Julien swatted his arm. Jean was starting to get that the sense that he was not much of a morning person.

"What is it, Jean? Don't tell me the nightmares are back."

"No, it's not that. I was just thinking that the universe let me live because it knew how much how I loved you. It wanted me to at least let us have a chance with each other before the end of our time here. That was a really deep thought and I needed to share it with you. Aren't you glad I woke you to share that deep thought?"

"No. Can I go back to sleep now?"


	15. Chapter 15

"I see," said the headmaster, "that you want to be a missionary."

"Yes, sir," said Julien.

"Well, in that case, I will forward your application to the Carmelites in Congo. They will probably accept you. I will let you know when they do."

"I see," said the headmaster, "that you want to be a comptable."

"Yes, sir," said Jean.

"Well, in that case, you will have to study hard for the bac, to apply to the Ecole de Comptables."

A month later

"Young Julien," the headmaster said, grabbing Julien's arm while accidentally elbowing Jean and causing their schoolmates to mutter angrily about molestation and ElbowGate and future Canadian prime ministers.

"Yes, sir?"

"You are in."


	16. Chapter 16

They discuss the future of their relationship

"Jean, we need to talk."

"Is this what I think this is? Are you breaking up with me? Because I didn't go through hell for you, just to get dumped a few months later!"

"No. What?'"

"Okay, what is it?"

"We need to talk about the future of our relationship. Where are we going with this?"

"Well, I'm going to the school of comptables in Paris, and you're going to the Congo."

"And that's the problem."

"How is that a problem?"

"Paris… Congo… How is this going to work, Jean?"

"We could do long distance?"

"Letters only? Maybe a telegram or a visit every few years?"

"We'll work something out."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can't. But we love each other so we will."

When you lose a letter and then find it #Shonagon #PillowBook #MyYearOfMemes

Something fell off of the desk and Julien picked it up. It was the letter from Pere Jean from months ago. _Strange. We must have forgotten to open it._ He ripped the thick envelope apart and unfolded the letter.

'Dear Julien,

If you are reading this, it is because I am dead. Or because Americans are imbeciles. Either way I have some advice for you. First of all, go follow your dreams. If you still want to be a missionary in the Congo, that's wonderful. Go and do it, no matter what your mother thinks. You'll do something great. Secondly, if you ever find another boy you love as much as Jean Kippelstein, you hold onto him tight. Yes, I saw you looked at him. You weren't being very discreet. There is nothing wrong with being a homosexuel, Julien. You are one of God's creations, and He thinks you are so wonderful and brave for embracing this part of yourself that the rest of the world isn't ready to face yet. So if you find somebody you love, hold onto him. Tell him you love him and say it loud. And if you ever see the Jewish boys again, tell them that je suis desole.'

Julean might be going the way of Calzona

"Should I even go to the Congo?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't you?"

"Because you won't be there."

"I don't want to be the one holding you back from your dreams."

"Well, how will we work?"

"After I finish my studies, I could work down in the Congo."

"That's four years, Jean."

"I could come down to the Congo with you. Screw comptable school!"

"No, I can't let you do that. Comptable school is your dream."

"Well, what then?"

A montage of relationship strugs

"God, Julien, how many times are we going to have this conversation? We'll make it work!" Jean was yelling now, because he was angry and frustrated and so deeply heartbroken at Julien's lack of confidence in their relationship.

"This isn't a conversation! Every time I bring this up, you say the same things. 'We'll make it work. It will work. Magically, all of our problems will be over.' Jean, wake up. This is not going to work! Maybe if we were on the same continent or you could get a job in the Congo or if school wasn't so long, then, we could think about it, but that isn't happening, so we are not going to work!"

"So what, this is it? You're breaking up with me?"

"No!"

"Well what the hell are we supposed to do?"

Julien sunk into his chair slowly, devastated. "What are we supposed to do?" he echoed softly. "Jean, I don't want to stop you from chasing your dream and I don't want to give up mine. If a long distance relationship isn't going to work…"

"We're over. Or at least we will be soon." Jean sunk into his chair as well.

"I want you to be happy. You can get a nice cushy job as a comptable and a nice golden haired wife and have three nice children. You can be happy without me, Jean."

"And you can give up your nice cushy life with your nice cushy copain and go become a sub-Saharan celibate," Jean joked. Neither of them were in the mood for it, though.

"I guess we'll end it once I leave."

"I guess." They sat in silence for a moment.

"Julien?"

"Yes?"

"Take care of yourself."

"You too."

"You'll go to Africa and be happy, and I'll stay here and be happy."


	17. Chapter 17

Exam morning

"Holy shit, this is stressful." Jean threw his bowl of unfinished cereal into the sink. "I don't think I can do this."

"Of course you can, this is just normal pre-test anxiety." Julien placed a fresh plate of toast in front of Jean. "Eat up, you'll need your energy."

"What if I don't pass, Julien? What if I'm the biggest failure there is?"

"Well, then, you'll get to come to Africa with me." At the reminder of their imminent breakup, both boys crumpled a bit inside.

"Oh, Julien." Jean held his head in his hands. "What are we going to do? About us, about life?"

"I don't know."

Procrastinating on studying physics

Apres le bac, the boys headed back to the apartment to pack their things.

"Hey, Jean." Jean looked up from folding his clothing into his trunk. Julien had picked up a ratty copy of the Arabian Nights.

"You kept this thing?"

"Yeah."

Julien was stunned. "You escaped from Auschwitz and the one thing you chose to bring with you was this?"

"I figured that if I died that night, at least I would have had part of you with me." Jean looked back down at his trunk. A smile spread across Julien's face. He was touched. _He did all that? For me?_

"That was tres sweet, Jean. Also dumb. You put your life at risk for this damn book. I thought you were smart!"

Julien walked over to Jean and wrapped his arms around him. Jean stopped folding clothing. His head was still bowed and Julien couldn't see his expression. "I wish I weren't leaving you, Jean."

"So do I. I can't believe we found each other months before you were supposed to leave." A tear slipped down Jean's cheek and he looked up to find Julien crying softly into his sleeve.

"Can I take you to Congo?"

Jean gave a watery laugh. "You should stay here with me."

"Je suis desole."

"Me too." Jean took the Arabian Nights out of Julien's hands. "I'm keeping this so that a part of you will always be with me."

MERDE'S ABOUT TO ESCALATE

Julien returned to the flat in the late afternoon from the gare. He had just bought a one way ticket to Kinshasa. For the next day. He wouldn't even be saying goodbye to his mother. Jean was sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. The Arabian Nights was cradled in his arms.

"Hey Julien." Jean's gaze didn't waver as Julien sat down beside him.

"Do you want to read the Arabian Nights? Like the good old days?"

Suddenly, Jean turned to face Julien. His stare wasn't blank, like it was before. It was intense. It was penetrating. Julien's stomach did a backflip. _Mon Dieu, his eyes are like molasses,_ he thought. _I just want to swim in them and get coated with molasses and have him lick it out of my ears afterwards._

"No, Julien," Jean whispered. "I don't want to read the Arabian Nights. But you know what I want to do?"

Julien looked at him, petrified. Jean bet that he was scaring Julien with his newfound boldness. "What do you want to do, Jean?"

"I want to live the Arabian Nights with you."

Explicit Material Ahead

This is your final warning

Julien squeaked as Jean pulled him up. His gaze was intense as he grabbed a fistful of Julien's shirt and pushed him back against a wall. Julien still looked petrified, but he cupped his hand around Jean's face and kissed him, deeply and passionately. Jean's hands fumbled against the buttons of Julien's shirt. He didn't want to unbutton it, he wanted to tear it off. Julien gently guided his hands through the unfamiliar motions and then he was naked from the waist up. Jean got dizzy just looking at him. He lost track of the world as Julien reached over and removed his sweater and slid his hands all over his chest and his back. Julien pulled at the waist of Jean's trousers and suddenly, his hands were down Jean's pants. _Mmmmmmm,_ Jean thought. He closed his eyes and revelled in the sensation.

They stumbled to the bed and Julien pushed Jean onto it, climbing on top of him. Jean watched as Julien's fingers trailed to the buttons at the front of his pants and undid them, pulling them off and tossing them aside. Julien tugged at the waist of his boxer shorts and suddenly, Jean was terrified. He gritted his teeth. _This was what he wanted, right?_

Julien paused. "You okay?" His eyes were concerned.

Jean's stomach flipped as he remembered why he had fallen in love with Julien. Because he wasn't like the other boys. Because he didn't think of only himself. Because he put the people he loved first.

"I'm terrified," Jean admitted.

"So am I." They both smiled shyly at each other. "We can stop if you want. We don't have to do it." Julien pulled himself up.

"No, wait." Jean cleared his throat awkwardly. "I want to do it with you. It feels right. And we're all going to have to get over our fears sometime." He took Julien's hand and twined their fingers together. "Je t'aime, Julien."

"Je t'aime aussi. Je t'aime maintenant et je t'aimerai toujours."

They explored each other all night, their ecstatic pleasure tinged with despair. It felt so new, yet so familiar. As they broke apart in the early hours of morning, Jean whispered "Did you mean what you said?"

"About wanting to love you until the end of time? Yes, every word."

When they woke again, it was late morning and the sunlight was streaming through the massive window.

"When do you leave?"

"Three."

"What time is it now?"

"Eleven thirty."

"Enough time to do it again?"

"Do what again?"

Jean raised a dark and mysterious eyebrow.

"Oh. Of course." Julien glanced at the window seat. "Get up." He threw off the duvet and Jean followed suit.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to christen that window seat."

"Wow. Okay." Jean was about to say something else but Julien covered his mouth with his own. They sprawled over the window seat, a tangle of limbs, as the door to the room opened.

"Julien, dear, I'm home!" a familiar voice sang through the room. Mme Quentin stopped dead in her tracks as she saw the two boys staring horrified back at her. "Oh, for Pete's sake!" She turned and stalked away.

The boys looked at each other. "Who's Pete?"

"Maman, please!" Julien was fully dressed now. He lingered at the entrance of the living room, unsure of what to do. Mme. Quentin was sitting on the couch, hunched over a mug filled with vodka.

"Julien, I thought you were a good Catholic boy. I guess I was wrong." She shook her head. "Imagine my horror when I saw my own son in the throes of sodomy. I want you gone. Both of you. Pack your things and get out of my home. You have an hour, and I don't ever want to see you again. Adieu, Julien."

They packed their things quickly. When they left, Mme Quentin was sitting in the same position in the living room as Julien had left her before, though her mug was empty. She did not acknowledge them.

"What now?" Jean asked when they were safely outside.

"I say we buy food." Julien started walking, not bothering to check if Jean was following.

"No, I mean about your mother. You have to have felt something back there. It's okay. You can talk to me about it."

"No, it didn't bother me in the slightest." Julien's voice wavered as he said it. He stopped in front of a bistro. "Let's eat here." As he was about to go inside, Jean grabbed his wrist.

"I'm here, if you want to talk, but I'll only be here for another two hours. Talk to me now, Julien, because I'm still here."

"Can we eat first?"

"Sure."

They bought sandwiches at the bistro and sat on the patio to eat.

"I always hoped that she would accept us. That she loved me enough to put her prejudices aside. I guess not." Julien began to cry, silently. Jean put his arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

"She's not ready for us. Give her some time, Julien. Maybe she'll come around."

"And what if she doesn't?"

"Her loss for letting her beautiful loving and kind son go."

"Jean?"

"Yeah?"

"I still stand by what I said last Christmas."

"And what was that?"

"I would burn in a thousand hells if it meant that I got to be with you."

Their journey to the gare seemed impossibly short, yet there they were. Jean watched despondently as Julien handed his trunks to the train attendant to place in his compartment. He glanced at his watch. They had ten precious minutes left with each other for the rest of eternity. It was that sad. _How could life be so screwed up?_ Jean wondered. _Six months. Six beautiful months._ He returned to the present to find Julien looking at him. Tears pooled at the bottom of his eyes but he bit his lip and tried not to let them fall.

"If I start crying now," Julien said softly, "I might never stop."

There was a lump in Jean's throat as well, as he gently cupped Julien's face. "You be good now, mon cher. Don't do anything dumb, like trying to hide a Jean from the Gestapo." They both laughed.

"I'll write you."

"So will I. I'll see you in the newspaper someday. You'll have done something amazing, like rescued a thousand orphans or something."

"Jean?"

"Yeah?"

"I think God only gives us one chance with love. And you were mine. I will never love another, because you were the one."

 _Shit, this is it_ , Jean thought, as he began sobbing in earnest.

"Sweetheart, don't cry, or then I'll start crying too and we'll never stop." The whistle on the train blew. "I need to go now."

"Julien? You are my one, and no matter where we are, you will always be my one." Jean glanced around the platform. It was still saturated with people, but against his better judgement, he was going to do it. After all, these people still owed him for sending him off to Poland to be gassed. He turned back to Julien, grabbed him around the waist, and captured his lips in one of the most passionate kisses they had ever shared. Time slowed as they enjoyed their last moments together, liplocked.

When they finally broke apart, Jean gently pushed Julien onto the train.

"Au revoir, Julien."

"Adieu, Jean."

The attendant shut the door between them and the train slowly moved out of the station.


	18. Chapter 18

After that train left, Jean was miserable all the time. His heart ached when he saw the college and remembered their fateful encounter. When he went to the synagogue, all he could think of was the winter holiday they had spent together. The battered and broken copy of the Arabian nights sat in his trunk untouched because he felt that his coeur would brise if he even dared to look at it too long. He bounced from one relative to the next, willing the summer to pass quicker so that he could be busy once again, and maybe, just maybe, the hurt would wane.

On the other side of the Mediterranean, Julien fared no better. He felt lost in the sea of life without Jean. He was a drowning man, and Jean had been the buoy that was cruelly wrenched from him. Once he was off the train, he met some rad allies in the form of the rest of the mission. The head honcho there was another man by the name of Pere John. He looked uncannily like Pere Jean. Julien seemed to have an uncanny knack for encountering men resembling Pere Jean. And it sucked, because every time he thought about Pere Jean, he thought about his love, Jean, who he was never to see again.

They wrote long and heartfelt messages to each other, but it wasn't the same. Every night, Julien had nightmares of Jean meeting a nice girl at university and forgetting about him. He still held onto the hope that they would end up together somehow, but maybe, it was too late.

Oops, I did it again

"Jean, there must be a mistake in your documentation."

Jean was perplexed. "No, that isn't possible. I did everything right!"

"But we don't have any space for you on our Paris campus. No rooms, no space in lectures, nothing! You're going to have to defer!"

"How could this have happened? I did everything right!" Jean protested as the dean led him out of the office.

"I'm sorry, Jean, but there's nothing I can do. Even if this were a mistake on our end, and it is highly unlikely that it was."

"Please sir, any way at all?"

The dean paused to think. "Well there is one other option. Come back in and let's discuss this." They both sat back down.

"How do you feel about our campus in the Congo? It's a very excellent centre and it's located on the outskirts of Kinshasa."

There were butterflies in Jean's stomach. "Is it located next to the Carmelite mission, by any chance?"

'Why yes, the missionaries actually occupy the other half of the university building."

"Yes!"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, I'll go to the Congo!"

"Excellent. I'll get you the paperwork."

"When can I depart?"

"If you finish the paperwork tonight, then you'll be on the train by tomorrow morning."


	19. Chapter 19

Everybody deserves a happy ending

It was very late at night when the train pulled into the suburbs of Kinshasa. Jean sprinted off the train, trunks in hand. He could barely wait as he hailed a taxi to bring him to the university building. It was an imposing brick building, stark among the small squat houses around it. As soon as the driver stopped in front of the school, Jean hurled a fistful of coins at him. "Keep the change!" he yelled as he ran towards the mission.

There was a small plump monk at the reception, illuminated in the dim room by a single lantern.

"Hello, Father, I'm looking for Julien Quentin."

The monk looked him up and down and then smiled, satisfied. "You must be his petit ami."

"Excuse me?"

The monk smiled kindly. "Dwai, kid, we're all a bunch of rad allies here. He's in 207. Down the hall, up the stairs, to the left."

"Thank you, Father." Jean grabbed his trunks off the floor and clattered towards the love of his life. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, but finally, he made it to the plain door marked 207. He hammered on the wood. Inside, someone groaned. Definitely Julien.

"Who is it?"

"Shall I call you Frere Julien? Or is Julien still ok?" He had barely spoken the sentence than the door was flung open and Julien had plastered their bodies together.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at uni or something?"

"The world had other plans. Listen, I made the biggest mistake of my life."

"What did you do now? Did you kill somebody? I'll help you bury the body but let me tell you, that's a lot of penitence you're condemning me to doing."

"No, not that. Letting you go. That was the biggest mistake of my life."

"Oh."

"Julien, listen to me. You are my sun, my stars, and the sky above me. I will never stop loving you. I'm yours. I'm so completely totally wholly yours. Please, take me back. I swear I won't ever let you go again. I'm in this time. I'm 100% in."

"Of course. But what about your dreams? And your future?"

"They're right here with you."

"Wow, Jean, that's romantic but I don't want to be the one holding you back from your dreams."

"You're not. The university transferred me here. You're going to do your priestly things and I'll go be a comptable and then I'll work here and we can be together."

Julien's face lit up. "Well, in that case, there's something I'll have to ask you."

"Yeah?"

Julien carefully removed an organic locally crafted artisan tribal ring that he had bought at the market from his finger. He got down on one knee.

"Shit, you're really… Bro, we're only 17. Also same sex marriage isn't legal." But though he had his doubts, the only thing Jean really wanted to say was yes.

"I have a hunch that in fifty or so years, we'll be able to marry in Holland. And age doesn't matter, Jean. When we first met, I knew you were the one. So answer me, Jean Kippelstein. Will you marry me in about fifty years when we're both old and wrinkly and smelderly?"

"Of course I will. After all, it was always you."

 **La Fin**

Epilogue (30 years later)

Julien: Jean, I want to make a movie of our time at the boarding school

Jean: k, but you should probably say I died or something. It makes it so much more emotional.

Julien: k


End file.
